


or a fortune for your disaster

by smallredboy



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Angst, Gen, Nightmares, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Catching Fire, Sister-Sister Relationship, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Katniss wakes up from a nightmare.
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen & Primrose Everdeen
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 10, Ladies Bingo





	or a fortune for your disaster

**Author's Note:**

> for hc-bingo with the square "serial killers" and ladiesbingo with the square "stream of consciousness"
> 
> enjoy!

It's an unfortunate fact, but I always scream when I wake up from a nightmare.

I wake up with a shrill wail, holding onto the bedsheets, one thought roaring in my ears. You are a killer. You are a murderer.

The nightmare was simple enough. Glimmer, Marvel, Cato. All the three people I murdered in the Games. The three people I took life away from. I feel sick to the bone, bile rising up my throat, but I fight the urge when I notice a small figure hovering on my doorstep.

"Prim?" I ask, voice scratchy with tears, my face red.

"Are you okay?" 

I want to laugh. I want to scream that no, of course I'm not okay, I murdered three kids my age in cold blood because of the system I was forced onto because you were reaped. But I can't entertain the other idea, the idea of letting her go there and  _ die _ . It's sickening. I much prefer the trauma, the nightmares, the terror of falling asleep to my mind's torture, than the trauma of my sister dying (perhaps murdered brutally) because of something I could have easily prevented if I sacrificed myself. I could not let Prim be a lamb to the Capitol's yearly slaughter. No.

"Yeah," I say, still gripping at the bedsheets. They're too nice. Everything about the house we had settled onto was too nice. It felt like a joke. Here, your District is still poor, still hungry, still struggling, but look! You've got thousand-thread bedsheets! I did not care about the bedsheets. They were mocking us, mocking me, mocking the entire District by having a Village for the Victors when there were exactly three of them right now. Haymitch, Peeta and me. A trio in various states of decay.

She still walks towards me, doesn't turn the light on, and sinks into the corner of my bed. "You can talk to me."

I should not talk to her about this, though. She is too young, yet she has seen it again and again. We have watched the Games again and again, but now her sister was involved. Now her sister was the one screaming her head off at the early hours in the morning. Now her sister had nightmares and couldn't stand the thought of having to lead more kids into certain death.

"Just." I swallow, a lump in my throat; it's firm. It won't go anywhere. "Nightmares."

"About what?" she presses on, relentless, her face scrunching up.

"About." I exhale sharply. "You know what about. The Games." I sigh and press my cheek against my palm; an attempt at comforting myself. It doesn't quite work. "Cato. Marvel. Glimmer."

"The ones you took out," Prim says, reaching for my free hand. I grab hers without thinking twice. She squeezes.

I allow myself the moment, as much as my head swims. I don't want to be touched, I don't deserve to be touched. I am a murderer. I am a killer. I do not deserve anything Prim wants to give me, anything Peeta wants to give me. They both  _ love _ me (Peeta really does, maybe, I don't know that part— maybe it's just for show still). I don't understand why.

"Yeah," I choke out. "Sorry for waking you up."

"I wasn't quite asleep, Katniss," she tells me. I can feel her tired eyes on me, as much as I can't see among the nightly darkness.

"You need to sleep," I tell her.

Prim squeezes my hand again. "You need it more than I do."

Yeah. Maybe I do. But I'm not about to admit that, I'm not about to say that to her. She has to move on with her life the best she can. Go to school, learn our mother's craft, all of that. She can't just be my rock forever— she shouldn't even be my rock to begin with.

"I can take care of myself, Prim," I say.

I can't. I really cannot. But I can't let that duty go down into my thirteen year old sister's shoulders. I can pretend to take care of myself, I can have Peeta attempt to comfort me. I will hold up just fine, in the end, with shaky fingers, shaky hands, shaky everything. I know I will survive this.

"I know," Prim says, and I know she knows I'm lying.

She still gets up, presses a kiss to my cheek, slips out of my room. I stare at the door for too long, knowing I won't fall back asleep. The memory of Marvel, Cato and Glimmer will haunt me until the sun rises. But it's okay, I can make time. I can work on what to tell the Capitol when they start bothering us again. I can work on what I will tell those kids I'll get for the Games.

I can work on it. I don't need to sleep; not when every time I try to it'll be interrupted by my memories.


End file.
